The Duel
by regie27
Summary: A German Mercenary arrives to London to aid an old comrade. Will his path and Isabella's meet? New chapter! At last
1. Prologue

*Standard Fanfiction disclaimers apply. I do not own any of the Soul Calibur characters.  
  
The Duel  
  
Prologue  
  
16th Century London, England  
  
The Valentine Mansion  
  
One of the things Lady Isabella had to admit to herself is that she missed the scores of faceless, nameless servants that used to frantically populate the enormous mansion she inhabited now almost in total seclusion, with only the indispensable and most loyal at her side. Observing the large, dusty looking library that used to be her father's, she realized how their absence was felt in every single detail of what remained as the last vestiges of the once opulent Valentine Mansion. The place really needed a platoon of able hands to make it look at least decent enough to feel like it was still home to her and not a impoverished monument to madness and lost dreams. But as many other things around Valentine Mansion, the now ruined library served as silent testimony and physical remainder of the economical downfall of the once proud Count Valentine. Ivy bumped constantly into those at every inch of the edifice.   
  
-"Well, I have managed to keep the house, for now at least until those barbarian bankers decide to take it away from me and complete their revenge against the Valentines" - Ivy thought to herself, a strange brew of sadness and anger interwoven on her words. Her fingertips lifted deep coats of dust from an old tome of Chaucer's tales. The familiar warmth of tears at her deep blue eyes fought to be set free but she held them furiously at bay as she dusted the dirt off her hands angrily.  
  
The youngest and last survivor of the Valentines wasn't alone in her newly experienced misery; she had kept the essential service to keep the vast place livable. About 10 servants, those who had worked under her grandfather and were reluctant to leave the place they knew as home also, managed to take care of the meager, routine things that could be depriving her of time for her precious research. She never really cared about decorating and making the mansion the envy of the ton, as her late mother Lady Valentine did. Her exquisite touch and taste could be still felt in the elaborate ornaments and rich fabrics, the elegant, fashionable furniture and expensive works of art. Actually, there weren't many of those anymore, only the empty walls that used to display them. Count Valentine, in one of his fits of utter desperation, had gambled away almost all the legacy of hundreds of years of art, including family heirlooms that both her mother's family and the Valentines had proudly displayed as evidence of their antique lineage. All gone now, in a single draw of a hand.   
  
Her mother, God bless her soul on Heaven, had managed to keep Isabella's considerably wealthy dowry in a secret account that only her and the family bookkeeper Davies knew about, fearing her father in one of his fits of insanity, might had tap too into those resources had he'd been aware of their existence. Countess Valentine always kept the secret hope that her daughter would finally come to her senses and accept one of the countless marriage proposals she received on a daily basis. Her mother admitted that her stunning daughter was blessed with unusual qualities that attracted men instantly but cursed with a roguish streak that was more proper for a young rogue than for a lady.   
  
-"If only you had been born male instead of female, you could have been an incredible personality and God only knows what you could achieve" - her mother always said with regret. It hurt Isabella deeply that she could never fit the mold Mama would have wanted her to fit into; that she never managed to please her with the planning of a decadently lavish wedding for her platinum haired child. This is merely one more thing she would reflect upon for the remainder of her life, just one more concern to be piled upon to join a myriad more on her already convoluted spirit and mind.  
  
Lady Isabella, Ivy for those closest to her, had to admit to herself that it was her father's unusual way of seeing life and his completely lack of interest in behaving "properly" like an average noble that enabled her to behave in ways alien to the typical ladies of her age. Her mother had already given up in trying to lead Isabella into conducting herself like a woman of respect in society, but hoped that her incredible blonde, blue eyed looks, refined intellect and dashing personality would still attract good suitors for marriage. And she did get some of the "best", at least for society's mediocre standards that is. On the glory days of the splendid parties and lavish clothes, the parade of young men from the crème de la crème of London aspired hopelessly to be the chosen one to receive the youngest Valentine's affections, just to leave disheartened every time, again and again.  
  
-"Poor Mama, she really thought I would take one of those fools for husband."- The marriage proposals kept trickling after the fall of the Valentine dynasty, albeit not as favorable or enticing as when they were still among the most powerful family of all the king's England. She didn't have the fortune they used to boast about, but continued to be known as one of the most beautiful, noble and enigmatic women of the British Empire. Instead of being a turn off, her age (at her late 20's,she was way past the usual prime age for marriage) was an enticing fact for many who wanted to thread into the shroud of mystery the youngest Valentine offered. Her suitors had kept a secret challenge among them from years and the legend still lived on: who among them would have the privilege of having the pleasure of taming the wild Lady Isabella Valentine?   
  
Mama's dowry instead ensured Ivy a livable, albeit modest life in the Mansion. She could not indulge in vices as she did in their prime years, but Ivy didn't care for none, at least for now. There were more vital issues at stake now. Any sacrifice was small compared to the challenge before her. Her mind was engulfed, possessed into something much more important. It was vital that she succeeded in her quest. After all, it was her very own sanity and soul that were in stake. Nothing mattered but the successful completion of the task that gave her meaning amidst the unfathomable pain of losing the ones you loved so tragically and having the very foundations of your life taken away forever.  
  
To the Countess disapproval, the Count was a silent partner and accomplice, encouraging all her unladylike eccentric ideas and behavior, as her mother considered them. Count Valentine had approved enthusiastically the fencing classes, the advanced studies in sciences, history and languages, even the alchemy and dark arts classes that only he knew about. When she scandalized the whole city of London and nearby towns when her long, platinum blonde tresses gave way to an almost masculine haircut, he had stood beside her faithfully. There were never words of reprimand for any of those events, only loving support. She suspected that he sympathized with her because through her he enjoyed the son he never had.  
  
-"But now he is gone and so my mother and I'm only left with this"- she said looking at the multitude of old large volumes of obscure books around her. A deep anger that had been sowed in her heart kept burning brightly every passing day, kindled by the truth behind her dearest father's demise. The pages of his beaten up leather bound diary had revealed everything to her devastatingly. Line by line, sentence by sentence, word by word the portrait of a man being driven to insanity was being revealed until what was left was the shell of a man once known as the proud Count Valentine. In her eyes her strange yet loving father had turned into a careless dreamer, a fool who traded all his fortune and possessions for a fever dream that became his living nightmare and in the end buried him. In her hands rested the responsibility of restoring the name of her family into its proper place in society.  
  
Her mother had dreamed of her daughter been a part of the Royal Court, but Ivy knew better. She had always laughed and despised the idea of being content with just being another lady at the court. Ivy laughed at the image of herself curtsying at nobles, musing empty babbling phrases to Earls and Princes, begging for their attention.  
  
-"Guess my true origins explains my roguish manners"- she said to herself as a soft, sarcastic smile formed in her plump lips, masquerading the pain the thought evoked. Ivy had always questioned to herself why she lacked all the wonderful qualities the splendid Countess Valentine possessed. At her deathbed and still mourning deeply the demise of her loving husband, her sweet mother had exposed the answer to this. The truth had been uttered simply yet it had been so devastating that it almost drove Isabella to madness. The cute girl that had blessed their home almost 30 years ago was not their daughter in flesh. The revelation brought into painful perspective all the differences that had separated her Mama from her, the abyss that she could never bridge and would never have the opportunity to fill. She stoically accepted her new identity, swearing to find her true lineage, the origin of the blood that ran on her veins that had imbued her with such particular traits that separated her and her adopted mother.  
  
But now, her attention was placed into following her father's research. She wanted to understand how and why he had spent everything he had into looking for this "Sword of Immortality", the Soul Edge. Even if meant giving up her own soul on the quest, she was determined she will find out why. And as in everything else she had pursued before, she did not plan to fail. 


	2. The Duel, Chapter 1

The Duel  
  
Chapter I  
  
-"James, hurry up with that tea, would you?" - the female voice sounded very far away and muffled; the words were barely understandable but the commanding tone distilled in them was clearly emphatic. Besides, he did not need to understand them anymore. He had taken care of Isabella's whims and wishes from her most tender years. He looked at the solid door that separated them and smiled. -"Yes milady"- he answered back.   
  
The old, balding servant hurried to the mansion's vast kitchen and lifted the silver kettle from the fire. He brushed his sleepy eyes struggling to remain awake as he poured the hot beverage into a delicate china cup. Trying to suppress a yawn, James climbed the staircase as fast as his age allowed him, cup in one hand and a candle in the other. At least his hands were still agile enough to move with the haste his mistress commanded. His knuckles tapped the door, loud enough to be heard but gentle enough as not to startle the Countess. She detested being pushed out of a stream of thoughts by unnecessary noises when working.  
  
-"Countess Isabella, your tea." - James said with his elegantly trained voice as he slowly opened the door.  
  
-"Leave it on that table; that is all for now,"- Lady Isabella quipped as she waved her hand in a dismissive motion without lifting her head from what was holding her present interest. James closed the heavy pine door carefully, as if he intended to avoid at all costs disturbing the person inside the room with the slightest of sounds.   
  
Inside the room, Isabella's platinum strands were barely visible behind the tall barricade of books piled up in front of her, scattered all around the sturdy desk that used to be her father's. The light of the crescent moon spilled over the room with its white light, giving the room and its present occupant a surreal aura. Wearing an elegant sleeping gown of soft silk, Ivy's head was buried deep into a thick book, while her delicate right hand was moving frantically a quill over a piece of paper.   
  
-"Bloody hell, I can't understand this part too well. Hmmm, let's see ? 'Cervantes de Leon atacó la flota de vuestra Majestad Isabel I de Castilla, dejando a su paso desolación y muerte." -The Countess lifted up her head, her delicate left hand brushing silver locks of hair from her forehead. She sighted loudly. The translation of this text had proven more challenging than she had anticipated but the information she obtained from it was more than worth every painstakingly hour she had spent bended over the tome. Suddenly her clear eyes sparkled with excitement. Her hand paused the scribbling and all her attention went to the text bearing her elegant handwriting.  
  
-"I need to improve my Castilian but there, I think I've got it. 'Cervantes de Leon attacked the fleet of our majesty Queen Isabella I of Castile, leaving behind death and desolation.' So Cervantes must have had Soul Edge by then. I bet Vercci must had been livid, his little plan trashed by Cervantes, not to mention how he was endangering business with his Spaniard associates with his indiscriminate attacks. Hah, at least De Leon managed to snatch from Spain all that precious New World gold he boasted of. Now let's see who really has the Armada Invencible"?-the countess remarked with a sneer.   
  
Ivy lifted her head again as her hand went to caress her nape with a massaging movement. She felt the muscles of her back, shoulders and neck untangling from the uncomfortable position she had forced them to endure for long hours. The blood on her extremities seemed to flow back and she became aware that her feet were tingling. Her eyes stung in discomfort, the torture of having to adapt to the fickle light of the dwindling candle finally surfacing. -"Well, I think that's enough for today. My linguistic skills need a good night sleep to recover. I'll need them for the rare alchemy books I'll be working with tomorrow. But at last, this puzzle is coming together. I feel that I'm closing in!"  
  
As she delighted her tastebuds with the soothing flavor of her warm lemon tea, her glance finally lifted from the books and instead it went to rest on the familiar surroundings of the family library that had doubled for so long as her father's study. Her sight went over several old volumes stacked together in a corner when suddenly, a swift move near a bookshelf caught her attention. The wiggly movement of a thin grayish tail slipped behind the leather bound books.   
  
-"So we have unexpected visitors" -Isabella murmured. -"I better tell James that we need another mouser. These pests are taking over my home. My mother would have been petrified and outraged at the mere sight of a mouse on her precious mansion." Yet another painfully physical sign of the pathetic state of her beloved home?  
  
Suddenly, her glance stopped at the sight of a richly ornate Paladin Sword that was hanging along with other weapons long ago forgotten on a mantel littered with keepsakes and more books and yellowish scrolls. Neither the dirt nor the dust could hide the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. The silver and gold inlays on the hilt shimmered with the moonlight, inviting the hand to touch it, to bring it from its imprisoning sheath. Isabella stood up and her steps took her to face the mantel, her eyes still fixated on the Paladin. Scores of memories flooded her mind as her hand picked the sword carefully from its resting place.  
  
-"I didn't remember this sword was here. I thought I had it thrown somewhere else. So many memories!"  
  
Ivy unsheathed the magnificent sword as she contemplated it with affection and remembrance, as if she held a friend, a confidant and companion more than just the mere output of the working of iron and fire. The edge was still sharp and her blue eyes looked back at her from the silver blade.   
  
-"My first real sword, my dueling sword. You were my trusty partner in so many adventures. We experience triumph and despair together..." Her fingers caressed the smooth blade, the cold iron contrasting with the warmth of her skin. Then a shadow of sadness darkened her eyes. Another memory, long ago suppressed was brought to life by the sight of her Paladin.   
  
-"My magnificent German Mercenary, I wonder were your path of revenge and redemption has taken you." Ivy moistened her ruby lips as her mind brought the features of the blond young knight who had challenged her some time ago, when her family was still the admired Valentines and her life had not been shattered by Soul Edge's grim shadow, when some illusion and warmth could still be found in her heart.   
  
-"We shared some very good times together.," she murmured with husky voice as her hand held the sword up, as if the images of the past were pictured on its long, two-edged blade. -"I know we could still be having a splendid time. You were an eager student and I was a patient teacher. But you had to leave, the siren calls of Soul Edge bound you in ways I never could." Her sultry voice turned cold now. -"And the irony of it all is that you were pursuing the same thing as my father. Both of you, enraptured, obsessed with that dreaded thing. And I lost both of you because of it!"   
  
Ivy put down the Paladin abruptly. Turning around, she placed her hands over her curvy hips catching her own feline reflection on a mirror. A defiant stare gleamed under the delicate curve of her eyebrows as he blue eyes reflected cold resolve.   
  
-"We will cross paths again, Schtauffen, and this time, I'll emerge victorious!" 


	3. The Duel, Chapter 2

The Duel   
  
Note: the following chapter takes place 2-3 years before the fall of the Valentines.   
  
Chapter II  
  
16th Century London, England  
  
The Crow's Nest Inn  
  
-"Are you sure of what you are doing, Reg?"   
  
A loud thud was all the answer Lord Canavough received as the infuriated youth slammed his cup of ale against the wooden table. Drops of the spirited drink flew all over, staining his shirt and his drinking partner's as well. Canavough raised his hand to order a new pitcher as he contemplated his friends face turn bright red, and not due to the effects of the drink.  
  
-"That bloody wench! Our family is second in nobility only to the Royal Family itself! How she dares to refuse me! I could bestow my attentions to a noble princess from France or Spain...the audacity!"   
  
The young Earl of Hastings drowned the remaining of his words with the liquor as his thick eyebrows remained fixed in a frown. The mood at the tavern was as always joyous. The bard was just starting the notes of a famous hero song in his lute as the crowd lifted their cups and pitchers and sang along out loud. Plenty of females ensured that the costumers kept spending coins and enjoying themselves but Canavough and Hastings weren't joining the good spirits reigning in the tavern.  
  
-"You know rumors say she's yet to be defeated," murmured Cavanough, hoping his friend would not throw any more ale on his expensive gray and silver outfit.   
  
-"Rumors, rumors, old lady's tales just to make this whole ridiculous deal more interesting" spat back bitterly Hastings. -" Let's see if she keeps behaving so arrogantly after she tastes my blade. You see Robert, these modern women believe they are equals to us men, and that's blasphemy and just plain silly. We got to teach them a lesson. And since this particular one has already put the conditions, it will be even easier for me. First I'll let my blade do the talking and then..."- A lascivious glance brightened Reginald Hastings' gray eyes as his friend laughed loudly as answer.   
  
-"Yeah Reg, show her who's the boss!"  
  
***************************************************************************************************   
  
A sizable crowd was already gathered on the field as Reginald and Robert arrived. Damn, it didn't look like a duel; it was more like a three ring circus gone out of hand. The lush field located at the outskirts of London was the favored place for duels. The moon was already on retreat and the pinks and oranges and soft yellows in the sky were the prelude of the incoming rise of the Sun, giving the place an otherworldly aura. As they approached on their equines and with their pages following closely, they noticed that everybody was already preparing their bets as bottles of wine and ale passed from hand to hand. The nobles tied their horses to a nearby tree and met the loud crowd.   
  
-"Seems like our dear Lady Valentine won't be joining us tonight? Maybe she just realized with whom she was messing with," -said Reginald with a cocky voice. A young red-haired man replied to the Earl with the confident tone of having witnessed the scene repeat itself over and over:   
  
-"Nah, Earl, she always like to make dramatic entrances. It is just part of the show. You know, bets are pretty even tonight. Seems you have the best chances of beating her."   
  
-"Hope then you are betting on the winning side tonight"  
  
As they were talking, the sounds of hooves closing in brought them out of their reverie. -"Yup, there she's coming," -the red-haired man said. A figure dismounted a gray horse that had just arrived at the field. It was man in his fifties covered with a black cloak. He held the reigns of his horse and stood still, like he was waiting for someone. New horse steps sounded. From a thick brush two new figures arrived, one in a brown horse, the other in a black stallion. The old man received both newcomers, as he helped the tall figure in black hood and cloak step out of the stallion. The crowd's hush had become a roar in anticipation and excitement of the event about to begin. Robert and Reginald stepped away from the crowd to see the newcomers better. The old man greeted the young man who came riding the brown horse. In his hands he held a scabbard with an exquisite sword. The tall figure from the black stallion approached both their companions, as the old man addressed them both:  
  
- "The Earl of Hastings is already here, milady"  
  
-"Good. That means we can get through this early. James, hold this."  
  
The servant stood at his master's side as she proceeded to remove the hood and cloak that shrouded her identity. A mane of silver hair flowed free from the hood and fell softly over her shoulders. Even in masculine garment, the proud Lady Isabella Valentine looked as ravishing as always, for some even more, since the man's tight black pants she wore for the occasion enhanced her feminine curves in ways that an elaborate dress would never do. A white shirt and riding boots completed her attire. As always, as if they were in the presence of an angel or was it a demon, the crowd watched silently the ritual of Lady Valentine removing the heavy clothes to uncover the glory of her unique hair and deep blue eyes. Looking rather amused as the effect her arrival had provoked, Ivy broke the silence:  
  
-"Thomas, my sword" The young servant handed Lady Valentine the elegant scabbard that held in its interior a Paladin sword. Ivy walked towards the center of the field with the confident walk of an experienced warrior. -"I'm looking for the Earl of Hastings. As you all can witness, I have accepted his challenge. Is he ready?"  
  
The Earl of Hastings looked shocked at the insolent little wench that dared to challenge him. Well, not that little actually; she was almost as tall as he was, he had to admit and good deal taller than many men he knew. God, that was the reason she had caught his attention in the first place that summer night on the French attaché's masquerade ball. Even there in the dueling field, with all his anger pent up, he acknowledged that his opponent was simply exquisite in her statuesque beauty and exotic hair coloring. Too bad he planed to let some blood run out from that fair skin of hers, just enough to put a good end to all this stupidity of duels. She needed the lesson and he was more than willing to provide it.   
  
-"Milady, I'm already here," the Earl replied proudly as he stepped out of the crowd that almost engulfed them both. -"Tell you what. I'll give you another chance to reconsider my proposal. I know your distinguished father Lord Valentine would not mind at all having his daughter marrying into the Hastings. He would gain even more access to the Royals that he already enjoys and his fortune and influence will grow together with our own. What do you say? I am a reasonable man and I can forget that this little scene ever happened."   
  
-"My dear Earl, from what I have heard from you, I would have never believed you as a coward," Isabella replied coldly. The crowd watched the scene enraptured, waiting for the Earl's reaction. If he caught the bait, the duel was about to start. His fuming face soon provided the answer.  
  
-"What! You... you insolent brat! I was giving you a peaceful choice out of this mess but since you seem determined in not having me, have then the blade of my sword!!"  
  
And with a quick move, Reginald stepped into the dueling ring, tossing away with violence the scabbard of his sword. His blade lifted high above his head, he aimed mercilessly against his objective when suddenly Ivy moved gracefully to the side putting an highly polished boot on the Earl's way, making him trip and fall with a loud sound to the cold ground of the field. The audience chuckled hard as they watched the Earl's jaw clench tightly and his eyes flung open like a madman. He stood up enraged and tightened the grip on his sword. Ivy was looking at him with a light smirk on her lips. Her blade was still held inside the scabbard, her fingertips barely touching its hilt. -"I'm right here Earl. I did not know you enjoyed lying on the ground." Her tone was now clearly contemptuous.  
  
-"You haughty brat, your insolence will be your doom!" - yelled a livid Earl of Hastings as he charged again in blind fury. Ivy avoided the charge again effortlessly, this time hitting the back of the Earl's head with the scabbard. The smack served to infuriate the Earl even more that he already was, if that was possible. The crowd roared again, the exchange of money and bets rising to a fever pitch. The nobleman's sword gleamed hungrily at its silver blade, reflecting the thirst for blood he had.   
  
-"Face me, you wench, are you planning in avoiding me all day?" the Earl spewed furiously."  
  
-"You are right, I've have a lot of things I'll could be doing, instead of wasting my time with you. En garde!" Determination replaced the whimsical look in her eyes that now reflected the coldness of her blade that came to rest on its mistress' hands. Hastings did not knew what angered him the most, the sight of a woman fighting him or the insolent words that came from her enticing lips and the challenge her eyes offered. Irons clashed and sparks flew as the two fighters came together in a deadly dance of agility and strength. The Earl was befuddled. Ivy seemed to anticipate every single hit and maneuver he offered and she did not seem to be having much of an effort doing so. She blocked and parried every single blow with a master's grace and with dread he realized that it seemed that she had held the upper hand from the start; that she was only cruelly toying with him as if she were a cat and he was his pray waiting, fearing for the last deadly bite. His mind clouded in a mixture of hatred and fear as he threw himself towards her in a furious charge. Ivy managed to unbalance him again and his back fell flat on the ground. Fractions of seconds later, a blur of silver overshadowed him and a cold iron just over his jugular startled him. It was over.  
  
-"Do you yield?" asked Ivy with a cool nuance that brought shivers to his spine. She pressed the blade slightly harder over the Earl's neck, waiting for his mouth to utter the words. His grip on the sword loosened at the unrelenting pressure of her boot over his wrist, sending pangs of pain up his arm. A small string of crimson blood came out tainting his elegant white shirt. A desperate voice came out the panicked Earl's throat.  
  
-"I, I yield..."   
  
She eased the pressure of the blade and stepped back, her sword returning swiftly to its holding place. The crowd stood in silence. Robert opened his way from the public and approaching his friend, he put piece of cloth over the Earl's neck. Hastings looked at her with a mixture of fear and fury, and left the field in silence. The crowd gained its voice and murmured loudly then in yells and rioting laughter as the losers relinquished their coins and the winners collected their loot.   
  
-"Okay everybody. The show is over", yelled Ivy, annoyed.   
  
The crowd started to disperse without protest, leaving Ivy and her companions alone in the field that was just starting to fill with the dawn's light.   
  
-"Great fight milady. The Earl is a renowned duelist", said Thomas proudly.   
  
-"So I had heard. Too bad he wasn't good enough. I am starting to tire of beating these fools. None of them is worthy of my attentions."  
  
-"Milady, you are becoming quite a legend," said Thomas as he finished wiping off the blood off Ivy's sword.   
  
-"Really?" said Ivy with amused voice as she approached her horse. James helped her mount. "So what does my 'legend' say'?   
  
-"Some say you are an avenging angel, others say you're a witch or a demon. But what everybody agrees in is that you'll only accept as a worthy suitor the challenger that defeats you."  
  
-"Well, at least that part is correct...hmm, I like how this 'legend' thing sounds. Come on let's go. Mother will be soon up, reading me the new batch of marriage proposals that she has received." And with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes added:   
  
-"Let's see whom my new set of challengers will be." 


	4. The Duel, chapter 3

The duel  
  
Note: As in Chapter II, Chapter III is placed in the past before the events that made Siegfried the new Soul Edge wielder. This scene follows up Ivy's previous duel with the introduction of Siegfried in the history and his place in her past.  
  
Chapter III  
  
The Crow's Nest  
  
London, England  
  
-"Schtauffen, my good friend! You've made it!"  
  
The tall, lanky man swerved around the tables of the very crowded "Crow's Nest" as soon as his eyes matched the figure of a broad-shouldered young man who sat down alone downing a pint with the one in his memories. As soon as he finally reached his table, hidden in a dark corner, far from the boisterous groups of loud card players and drunken nobles, he sat down on a beaten up chair beside him. The man lifted his head still covered by shadows as soon as his name was called out loud and put down the cup, the shimmer of his jade eyes glaring at the newcomer attentively. His broad arms crossed over a muscled chest.   
  
-"In what kind of mess you're into now Steffenauer?", the blond man asked sternly.  
  
-"Why, can't I show joy to see my former boss?" the redhead replied with a sly grin. Schtauffen gave the man a knowing expression and muttered a long sigh.  
  
-"Fritz, the only moments you show any kind of positive reactions to my presence is when you're sunk up to your hair with problems."  
  
-"Gee boss, I do like you, is just that you were too strict sometimes?"  
  
-"Don't get me started on that Steffenauer. You're living on borrowed time, thanks mostly to me, or do you want me to remind you that time that we were hired by Baron Gustav of Bavaria and you decided to show our appreciation by being caught in too affectionate a manner with one of his daughters?" His tone had a decidedly hard edge and his face was acquiring a shade of red. The taller man lifted his arms apologetically.  
  
-"Wait a second there, she specifically searched out for me with her personal guard. What could a man do but oblige to a beautiful woman's commands?" The former mercenary could not help an impish smile, his thoughts trailing to seemingly pleasant memories. His former boss relaxed at the man's roguish expression and suddenly, laughter surged from him.  
  
-"Yeah, I guess I have to concede that much, although those same loyal guards were the ones who later spilled the beans about seeing you on Froilan Briggitte's room with your pants down to your ankles. Talk about details there, huh?"  
  
-"The bastards, she feared they would sooner or later blackmail her. It was a difficult time with her scheduled engagement with that dumb Duke of Asturias. Damn, I didn't help her much on that, but at least she did manage to steal some moments of pleasure." A big grin adorned the man's face in obvious pride.  
  
-"Fritz Steffenauer, the Rogue Mercenary, the seducer and heartbreaker of the Holy Roman Empire. What a reputation you built. I should demand from you the potential contracts we lost because of that damned reputation. We lost many promising deals because all the ladies feared for their daughters!"  
  
-"Siegfried, that's all ancient history now. Besides, you ended up getting many of the contracts anyway because those same mothers wanted to catch you for their daughters. You could've been a very rich and powerful lord if you had wanted. I never understood why you refused those opportunities?"  
  
Siegfried listened in silence to his friend's words. His handsome blonde looks and his reputation as a fearless leader and unwavering warrior had attracted many impressionable young debutantes and more than one eager mother had tried to concert a match with the German Mercenary, to no avail. He had countless opportunities to make himself rich and powerful through an arranged marriage and he could have belonged to the upper crust long ago, but he chose not to. A wife would be a hindrance in his present quest. His priority was set in one thing only: to find the famed Soul Edge and with it, avenge his father Frederick.  
  
-"I'm not the marrying kind, Fritz. Besides business and tending lands and scores of servants is not my cup of tea. I'm a knight, a warrior. I live by my sword and I don't want that to change for a while. I guess I'm unredeemable."  
  
-"If I were on your shoes, I would have taken any of those opportunities in a heartbeat. I would have never have to ask for your help like I have to now?."  
  
Steffenauer's face suddenly went stark and pale. Lines of deep worry crossed his forehead. A nervous tick assaulted his hands. Siegfried looked at him stunned. Fritz had always been a brave fighter as part of the Schwartzwind (Black Wind). He wondered what could worry his countryman as to suddenly seemed overwhelmed by dread.  
  
-"Fritz, what is going on?"  
  
Steffenauer grimaced and offered Siegfried a weak smile.  
  
-"You know me Schtauffen. I've always been the troublemaker, the gambler and seducer. After I left you guys I joined a Portuguese merchant group and managed to scramble some very decent earnings. After I returned to Europe, I've worked as advisor and hired hand for corsairs and adventurers who seek the riches of the New World. My services have been very solicited here. Many Britons wish to get even with those dastardly Spaniards, who have manage to seize the big New World bounty, and the British are none too happy. Anyway, I've taken quite a liking for cards and all sorts of games and lately my luck has been diminishing by the second?."  
  
-"So?"  
  
-"Yeah, I think you already guess my tribulation. I've gambled away more than I posses right now and the winners are already demanding their due money. I should have had pay about three months ago but I haven't found anyone that could lend me the money. Business has been slow all thanks to that cursed Cervantes. It's harder to find expert sailors to ship west because they're terrified he'll attack them. I've already received some not so kind warnings of possible "accidents" that might occur if I don't pay. They have even been kind enough to leave me some nice reminders. Here I'll show you???"  
  
Fritz pulled out a slender dagger from his coat, still tainted by dry blood. Sweat started to crown his forehead damping the strands of hair that went over his forehead. His voice trembled slightly. Siegfried observed him back sympathetically.   
  
  
  
-"See this scar on my cheek? This precious did it and they said that next time, I would be aimed higher, just enough to make me sport an eyepatch for life. By Jove, I'm on a tight spot!"  
  
-"If it's money, I'm not sure I can help you with that. I'm out of the Mercenary business temporarily."  
  
-"It's not money. I would never ask money, not from you. I appreciate you far too much. However, your fighting skills can be invaluable right now, more that you could ever imagine."   
  
Siegfried's face had a questioning expression. What did Fritz meant? He hoped it wasn't that he was about to be hired as an assassin or a bodyguard. He didn't have enough time for either job.  
  
-"Explain"  
  
-"Have you heard of Countess Isabella Valentine, of the Valentine House in London?"  
  
-"No, not really. I've been in England for a very short time. Besides you I'm not interested at all in High Society gossips."  
  
Fritz rested his back against the chair, downing what was left of Siegfried's ale. As if strengthen by the drink, he resumed talking.  
  
-"Lady Isabella or Ivy as we have take the liking of calling her is the beautiful daughter of Count Valentine. The Valentines are a very wealthy family and Isabella is considered to be on her prime years. However, the Valentines are also well known for their fancy for eccentricities. Count Valentine is rumored to be an alchemist and collector of shall we say, strange artifacts? His daughter is quite the catch but it also rumored she displays her own brand of distinctive eccentric streak."  
  
-"Well, this family's accomplishments sound very interesting for some bland chit-chat but I still don't see any relation with either your troubles or me."  
  
-"Would you let me finish? Mein Gott, still a hot-head Schtauffen! Anyway, our dear Isabella has refused to settle down and accept any marriage proposal. Now that I notice, you too are very much alike in that regard."  
  
Siegfried frowned and got closer to the taller man menacingly.  
  
-"Stop joking around and just cut to the chase, would you? I'm not here on a vacation and if you just wanted to see me to tell me the latest exploits from the English Nobles, you have the wrong individual."  
  
-"OK, OK, calm down. Anyway, this woman is most interesting, not to mention enticing. OK, stop looking me like that Schtauffen! My latest debt, the largest, came after a bet against our beloved Ivy on a duel."  
  
-"You are kidding me Fritz. A woman, on a dueling ground. And you're saying she???"  
  
-"I swear on my dead grandmother's grave what I say it's true... I saw it with my own eyes. Darned wench cost me quite some gold coins."  
  
-"Your grandmother is alive and well, you liar. Anyway, who she dueled against?" Incredulity was clearly expressed on the German's clear eyes; his lips curved on a smirk.  
  
-"Lord Cavanough, Earl of Hastings. She took him down in less than ten minutes, not a drop of sweat fell from her exquisite face."  
  
Dueling women! Now the German had heard it all. He would had deemed everything just a folly if it wasn't because the trail for Soul Edge had made him encounter female warriors from the far East, as beautiful as they were lethal. But why this woman dueled the cream of nobility. Was it to amuse herself, to humiliate men? He was truly intrigued by the tale, he had to admit to himself.  
  
-"Interesting tale I'll admit; I'm quite amused by still I do not understand we have to do in it."  
  
-"Simple Schtauffen. You will be her next challenger and since the bets are in her favor, I'll bet in your favor, you defeat her and I reap a fortune, enough to pay off my bloody debt and with gold to spare to pay you more than well. Simple isn't it?"  
  
-"You are insane Steffenauer!"  
  
-"I've thought about this for a long time now Siegfried. If there's only one person who can defeat Lady Isabella, it's you. I know you and I've also seen her fight. You are the only real contender in this bloody island. I'm desperate my friend. If I don't pay my debt, I'm as good as a dead man!"  
  
Siegfried stood silent for a moment to study his former battle peer. He did seemed desperate, desperate enough to scheme such a idea. Then again, he was right. For a battle-hardened veteran like him, a duel seemed like child's play. Besides if this Count Valentine really dealt with arcana, he might tip him off on Soul Edge's trail. He might even offer his services to the Count, in order to advance his on quest. Of course, Fritz does not have to know this part. He had enough troubles already, the poor bastard. He figured that Stefenauer would eventually find his demise on a married woman's bed by the hand of an angered husband.   
  
-"Siegfried..." the young redhead said sheepishly.  
  
-"Worry no more Fritz, I once again become your insurance against the consequences of your stupidity. Now, rounds are on you. All this titter-tatter has my throat scorched, but better get something better than this watered down ale. How I miss our beloved home's beer."  
  
-"For you Schtauffen, I'll run to the Black Forest and back to get you our country's best, but it will take me too long. How about some local wine instead?" The taller man's face had transformed as if a huge burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. Siegfried smiled. It felt like the old times and it was a good thing to feel because he understood the trail he was following was hard and almost devoid of happy moments such as these. He missed the camaraderie of his band but for his father's sake, he would sacrifice everything, even himself.  
  
-"Why the serious expression? Wine don't sound good. Wait till you add some generous and loving broads with and you'll see..."  
  
Siegfried bursted out of his inner trail of thoughts.  
  
-"No Fritz, no women, not for me or you. Our only objective is this dueling Englishwoman, Lady Isabella, and that's the only woman I want to think about for now. If she's that good, I cannot lower  
  
my guard, not even for a petty sunset duel."  
  
Disappointment was displayed on the redhead's face.  
  
-"There you go again, spoiling my fun, but that's alright. I need you sound of judgement. You see, some of the people that are looking for me have grown impatient enough to want to torture me a bit, so I wouldn't mind if you sort of act as my bodyguard. I would like to make it out of this intact, you know."  
  
Siegfried arched an eyebrow and directed his green gaze towards the ceiling. The nerve this guy had was beyond his comprehension!   
  
-"Agreed, but you better concert this duel fast. I have more pressing issues to tend."  
  
-"My friend, before the week is over, the German Mercenary from the Holy Roman Empire will face the heiress of the Valentine House, Isabella Valentine."  
  
-"You make it sound like something important."  
  
-"Because it is important. My young friend, I have the feeling this little event might mark an important milestone in your life."  
  
-"More drunken incoherences from a fool, Steffenauer! I wonder if that's the reputed charm you used with your victims, err, ladies."  
  
Fritz lifted an eyebrow and suddenly a loud, riotous laughter came from him as sole reply to his fellow countryman. It was rather obvious he was enjoying himself again. Forgotten momentarily were the threats to the redhead's life and the hedonistic mood of the tavern finally reached their table. But as they downed cup after cup of red wine that moistened and stimulated the remembrances of their glorious past narrated with the enthusiasm and glee of a young bard, the young Teuton's mind kept repeating his countryman's words. Maybe fate had it that in order to close in on Soul Edge he had to duel this mysterious Englishwoman who took pleasure in dueling upper-crust males for undisclosed reasons.  
  
-"Who knows, it might be fun after all." 


End file.
